


i dont want to bother coming up with a title for the one person whos going to read this

by Anonymous



Category: Peggy Sue Got Married (musical) - Gaudio/Leichtling & Sarner
Genre: M/M, historical inaccuracy? in MY pwp? Yeah., why even bother tagging this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 11:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: I have always wanted to originate a fandom tag on ao3





	i dont want to bother coming up with a title for the one person whos going to read this

It's early.

Well, early for this type of store. Sitting behind a counter in a cluttered front room--half-stocked shelves of movies from eras past gathering dust--a cashier flips through a magazine, attention entirely withdrawn from the blatant lack of customers. If this were the kind of store where the employees wore nametags, his might say, oh, Johnny. He’s young, and questionably ‘he,’ hair somewhere between too long to be properly male and far too short to be properly female. An earring dangles off of one ear, and a thin line of eyeliner completes the look of utter disillusionment currently taking residence on his face. And he is, at the moment, wondering who thought this store should be open at 3pm, when the only people out and about were high schoolers who sure as hell wouldn’t want to be seen walking out of a ‘specialty’ video store in broad daylight.

Then, in a fit of narrative irony, the door opens with a faint squeak of its hinges.

The cashier glances up, surprise otherwise imperceptible. And then--he bites the inside of his mouth to keep from snickering. Their only customer of the afternoon is avoiding eye contact with him like the plague. One might think he was planning to rob the place, except he's wearing a fucking sweater vest.

Johnny targets his amused huff at his magazine, and then watches not so subtly as the guy half-feigns interest in the movies out on display on his casual path to the back of the store, very nearly pulling one out to look at it before thinking better of confronting the blanket of dust. He frowns, and continues on his way--and then sneaks a surreptitious glance towards the counter.

They make eye contact. Johnny doesn't flinch, and--surprisingly--neither does the tall drink of water that's been slinking around his shop. Instead, he adjusts his glasses, almost like a challenge.

Johnny flutters his eyelashes, smiling in a way that is halfway between flirtatious and mocking.  _ What are you gonna do about it? _ And, finally, the guy frowns, and in a spurt of determination, marches over and disappears behind the curtain next to the counter.

The cashier smirks, and goes back to his magazine. But it just doesn't seem so interesting anymore compared to the easily riled up boy who's just disappeared into the back of the shop. So, with habitual leisure, he sets his magazine down and follows him.

This is where the real business is. The back room is considerably larger and dimly lit, glowing with black lights and bulbs on the shelves that are just bright enough to read at least some of the information on the tapes--meticulously organized and very well-used. The room is designed to make it hard to tell how many other people are in there with you, and easy to ignore them--but it’s easy to find his illusive customer. He’d immediately tucked himself in to the back corner and crossed his arms tightly across his chest, peering over the top of his glasses at tapes as if he's afraid he might get infected if he touched them.

Which, admittedly, isn't an entirely baseless paranoia.

Johnny leans on one of the shelves next to him, a few feet away. “How old are you?”

He tenses, the line of his shoulders the only indication of his surprise. “Eighteen,” he says. Which is, of course, the right answer.

“Mhm,” Johnny presses. “How convenient.”

No response. He's too engaged by pretending to read the hand-written labels. Pretending, because there's no person on Earth who gives those things much more than a glance before making their decision. There's not much information to take in.

Unless you don't know what you're looking for.

“What's your name?” Johnny asks, in the same tone he'd asked his age. A tone that implies he's owed this information.

“Rich--” he swallows the second syllable, glancing over at him, daggers from the corner of his eyes, mouth a flat, unamused line. “You don't need to know that.”

“Richard?” he guesses. He figures it's a pretty good chance. “I'm Johnny.” He extends his hand, casually.

Richard--probably--glances down at it, and then straightens up, his nerves disappearing under his annoyance. “If you hadn't noticed, I'm busy,” he bites.

Johnny giggles, and inches closer. “I just thought you might want a hand,” he says. “It can be a bit overwhelming if it's your first time.”

He narrows his eyes, and Johnny laughs, reaching out and touching his arm. “Come on, lighten up. No judgment here. What are you into? We got all sorts of stuff. Let me help you out.”

Richard shifts away, pointedly. “I'm not--” he starts. He clears his throat. It's a guess, under this kind of lighting, but the guess is that he's blushing. “It's for...research.”

“Ooo,  _ research _ ,” Johnny teases. “Of a...personal kind?”

“It's none of your business,” is the answer, and he promptly walks away, blindly going to examine a different section of the store. Johnny waits as he, predictably, takes one look over the tapes he's wandered over to and immediately flees to a different section. He hides his smile, and creeps over to his side again.

“Don't have any willing test subjects?”

Richard huffs, scowl becoming more prominent. “If I did, why would I be here?”

“You'd be surprised.”

He insistently browses--perhaps even finding something he's found an interest in, judging by his hesitation in putting it down.

Johnny's gaze is drawn to Richard's neck, his adam's apple bobbing with a nervous swallow. He glances, what he must feel is secretly, at Johnny, and his gaze is caught.

Johnny holds that gaze, tilting his head just the slightest bit downwards--and realization finally dawns on Richard's face. He gives Johnny a quick, startled once-over, a struggle to match his assumptions and the reality of the situation, and comes back with...

Hm, well, not complete disgust, more of a hesitant curiosity, so Johnny rolls the dice and steps over, slipping an arm around his waist and gracing him with a very unambiguous kiss.

Richard freezes against him, breath catching, and just like that, Johnny slinks away, dragging a finger under Richard's chin as he does.

“Be here if you need anything,” he teases, and then heads back to his station without so much as a glance behind him.

Not long later, Richard emerges from behind the curtain and places three tapes on the counter. Johnny rings him up, smirking at his blatant avoidance of eye contact, and takes the few dollars’ deposit fee.

He hands the tapes over in a nondescript bag, and writes up a receipt with a return date. And, under it, seven numbers, and a heart.

He slides it over, and Richard takes a look at it. The heart, he thinks, is what earns him the guarded glance upwards.

“In case you need any volunteers for your research,” he answers.

Richard stares at it. And then dutifully drops it in his bag, mumbles a 'thanks,’ and hurries out of the store.

Johnny watches him with a careful eye as he leaves.

He sure would love to know what's under that sweater vest.

* * *

_ Ring ring. Ring ring _ .

The hazy world comes into view as he wakes from a dead sleep.

_ Who the fuck? _

He reaches up from his couch to fumble for the phone ringing at his side table, and almost slams it back onto its stand, before realizing--Hm. This could be an interesting call.

He holds it to his ear and lays back down, closing his eyes. “What?” he greets.

The other end hisses softly. Silent. Then, “Uh. Is this--is this...Johnny?”

_ Oh _ . “You called,” he notes, somewhere between smartly pleased and half-asleep contented. “I was asleep.”

“It's almost eleven.”

He snickers at how quickly this Richard can switch from nervous stammering to a very convincing imitation of his mother. “You're sharp. Did you want something?”

“Um.” Ah, the ball is back in his court. There's an almost audible glance around to make sure no one's at the phone. “What did you mean by, uh, volunteering?”

Johnny yawns, stretching at length. Taking his time to answer. Then he settles back in and gives brief thought to his response. “I mean,” he says, “that we should fuck.”

Richard clears his throat. “Do you--I mean--for--for pay?”

He hums, amused. “I'd settle for dinner,” He's not sure the joke lands. “No,” he clarifies. “For fun.”

Silence from the other end. Maybe some rustling. He certainly hasn't hung up yet.

“But,” Richard continues, voice growing steadily quieter. “You're a. Uh...you know. You're... _ male _ .”

“And here you are, calling me anyways.”

“I just--” He just  _ what? _ He falls silent. Johnny raises his eyebrows, curious for the end of that sentence. “I was only. Well. Do you...do you still...” Richard clears his throat. Again. “I...I'm interested.”

Johnny sighs, pleased, and takes his time settling back in to his couch nest. “So, when are you coming over?”

“Oh. Uh. I...when...should I?”

“I'm off tomorrow. Three? Four?”

“I have...” He trails off. “Five. Maybe. Where do you live?”

“You got a pen?”

* * *

He honestly didn't expect him to show up. He dutifully stuck around for the appointed time--but the quiet knock on his door at the stroke of 5 takes him by surprise. He glances up, and sets his book down on the floor before getting up to answer it.

The face that peers back at him from behind his door chain is set in determination. But his constantly shifting gaze betrays his nerves.

Johnny winks at him, and unlocks the door to let him in.

“Welcome to chez moi,” he introduces as he waves his guest in.

Richard stands just inside, arms crossed tight against his chest.

“Would you like something to drink?” Johnny steps into what passes for a kitchen at the end of his apartment. “Water? Beer?”

He tries not to laugh too much at Richard's alarmed look. Really, he'll have a soiree with a stranger he met at a porn store, but the thought of a beer is unthinkable? Well, baby steps. He gets two glasses of water from the sink and brings him one.

And, oh, the sight of Richard's fingers wrapping around that glass is enough to kick up a little stir of excitement in him. The guy has  _ nice _ hands.

“I'm going to need you to take a breath,” Johnny says. “You're making  _ me _ tense. Here, with me--” he breathes in, raising his hands in the corresponding gesture, and Richard thankfully follows suit. They breathe out--his guest looks at least minimally less tense. And finally drinks some of his water, looking around the apartment.

“Now, I have a vested interest in this question, so can you tell me how old you actually are?”

He takes another drink. Then, quietly, “Seventeen.”

“Oh, good.” He didn’t  _ think _ the ‘eighteen’ lie had been too far off, but he’s made wrong guesses before. “Alright.” He takes Richard’s glass, and sets both of them on his side-table. “Let’s get this over with, you poor thing.”

He wraps his arm around Richard's slender waist and tilts up onto his toes to place a kiss on the side of his mouth--fairly chaste, as he feels his way around. He makes space for him as Richard realizes he should uncross his arms, and decides, after a moment of hesitation, to place his hands on Johnny's back. He feels like he's at a prom. But it's kind of nice, otherwise.

He tugs Richard's collar to encourage him to lean down to a more accessible height, and kisses him again, more insistent. And he's almost definitely never done this before, but for that being the case, Richard isn't half bad. He's a little hesitant, but Johnny'd take that to bashing teeth any day.

“You're cute,” he mutters against his mouth, and takes the ensuing moment of surprise to nudge him towards the couch. He sits. Johnny kneels down and takes off his shoes.

“Uh,” Richard questions.

“I sleep here, you know,” he answers, tossing a shoe away. “I'm just trying to keep things clean. I mean...” He slides his fingers under Richard's foot and scratches at it through his sock. He's rewarded with a twitch and a huff for his trouble. “Unless you're into that kind of thing.”

“I'll  _ pass. _ ”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself,” and then places himself in Richard's lap, hooking a finger into his tie and kissing him, hard.

It takes him a moment to recover, but recover he does. He places his hands on Johnny's hips--and then, in a show of boldness he can't say he was expecting--repositions them to slide his hands under the hem of Johnny's t-shirt, the pads of his fingers brushing against his skin.

“Ooh,” Johnny croons, “Yes, touch me more, dear.”

He can feel the heat rise up in Richard's face, but nevertheless those hands slide up his back as he loosens Richard's tie. Their lips slide together, Richard an expert in following suggestion. Johnny sneaks his tongue in.

This isn't quite so welcome. Richard breaks away, and Johnny quirks an eyebrow at him.

He doesn't look uncomfortable, at least, more that his eyes are darting this way and that, like he's trying to figure out exactly how he feels about what just happened.

Johnny reaches up and slides his glasses off. Richard blinks, looking up at him as his expression relaxes into an attentive surprise.

“Let's put these somewhere safe,” Johnny says, and leans over to place his glasses with their glasses. When he returns, he kisses the side of Richard's face, and then his jaw, and his ear. He blows in it, gently, and delights in the shiver it inspires.

“Do you--” Richard attempts, as he makes his way down his neck. He takes a breath, and tries again. “Do you do this often?”

Johnny unbuttons the top of his shirt, and pushes it aside to hum into his collarbone. “Most people that come into that store aren't as appealing as you.”

“ _ Appealing? _ ” Richard repeats, voice breaking on his shock. He clears his throat to steady his voice--Johnny can feel his pulse flutter against his skin. “I...that's not how most people would describe me.”

“Well.” Johnny sits up and looks him over, taking him in. He runs a hand through Richard's hair, completing the picture. Disheveled, flushed, his dick tenting the front of his pants. “ _ Most _ people haven't seen you like  _ this _ .”

Richard's dark eyes are fixed on him now, no nervous darting around the room, and Johnny smiles, eyes narrowed mischievously. He shifts off of his lap, and places his hands on his shoulders to gently guide him down onto the couch.

The hesitation returns to Richard's manner as he's repositioned, but he lays down nonetheless, head sinking into the pillow pressed up against the arm of the couch. His skinny legs bow at the inadequate length of the couch, and Johnny is happy to find his place between them. He leans down and continues pressing kisses to Richard's collarbone, and undoing his shirt button by button, relishing in the twitches and breaths he inspires by an “accidental” brush of the fingers.

Richard, remembering their partnership after a moment, places his long fingers in Johnny's hair, pulling ever so gently through it. Johnny hums--and to show his appreciation, slides his hand down to palm at Richard's, well, you know the joke here.

He positively  _ whines _ , and the noise sends a wash of pleasure over Johnny, who sighs it into Richard's neck. “ _ Yeah _ ?” he encourages, fiddling with Richard's belt. “Did you like that?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. Johnny slides his belt off, and Richard shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

Johnny pushes him back down with a hand on his chest and an insistent kiss. “Shh,” he urges him. “Relax.”

He lays back down at least, but he's far from relaxing. “What are you going to do?”

Johnny shrugs, nonchalantly, undoing the front of Richard's pants. “I thought I'd suck you off.”

“Oh,” squeaks Richard. He clears his throat. “Uh. Okay.”

Johnny smirks, and kisses him once more before shifting down, tracing a line down Richard's torso with the barest brush of his finger. He slides his thumbs past his waistband and nuzzles Richard's stomach.

He twitches, gasping softly--reservedly. Johnny looks up at him, and slides his pants down.

His dick, long and lean just like him, springs out, and his face blushes a deep red.

Richard covers his eyes, breath catching, and Johnny smirks. He licks his hand, and wraps his fingers around it, giving it a firm tug. Richard twitches, whimpering softly.

“Mm,” Johnny hums, approvingly. “You're  _ big _ .”

“Oh,” says Richard, flatly.

Johnny snickers. “ _ Oh _ ,” he repeats, amused. Oh, indeed.

He leans down and takes Richard's head into his mouth, licking along the bottom of it. Richard twitches, one of his legs knocking up against Johnny's side. But his gasp is suppressed, hand pressing against his mouth.

Johnny hums, shifting a hand down to knead at the soft skin of Richard's upper thigh. He wants to hear this boy's voice so bad, but he's not sure if he can get him out of his shell enough to do so.

Oh, well. He'll do what he can.

He slides down as far as he's comfortable, then back, popping up off of him and blowing gently. Richard looks at him, at least, peering down wide-eyed, just enough confusion showing through his overwhelmed expression. Johnny smirks and then continues his task, coaxing a shaky “ _ Ah--! _ ” from Richard. Johnny keens around him, and sets his pace--slow and steady. Enough to make Richard squirm, but not near enough to get him there.

Well, presumably.

His breath starts coming heavier, and Johnny lifts up, wrapping his hand around the base of his dick. Richard whimpers, and Johnny grins, slowly, stroking his hand along his length. He really, really wants to be mean--but he won't. Not for this poor guy's first time.

“Should I keep going?”

“Mmh,” says Richard.

“Hm?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he breathes.

Johnny slides his thumb over his head. “Are you close?”

“Yes.  _ Fuck _ . Please. Keep going.”

And who would deny a request like that?

He goes back down on him, and he isn't taking his time now. Richard shivers, his hand finally finding Johnny's hair again and gripping considerably tighter this time. He bucks his hips, and Johnny shifts up, pinning him down and scraping his teeth gently against his dick. A punishment, or a warning--depending on how he likes it.

He gasps, and Johnny hums, sliding back down on him--and that does it. Richard cries out, almost a sob, and throws his arm over his face, turning away. Johnny runs his tongue along him, and then sits up.

Richard looks  _ wonderful. _ He's flushed to his neck, chest rising with heavy breaths. He shuts his mouth, and moves his arm away, timidly, glancing at Johnny out of the corner of his eyes.

Johnny raises an eyebrow at him, and Richard shifts to prop himself up. Johnny presses him back down.

“ _ Relax _ ,” he urges. “It’s a nice feeling. Don't rush it.”

Richard's mouth twitches in some hint of an unreadable expression. “Wh...what am I supposed to...”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, and redresses Richard, urging his hips up to replace his pants, buttoning them neatly. “I could fuck you, if you want.”

His eyes widen in something like fear. “Uh--no thank you.”

“Mm. I didn't think so.” He pats Richard's chest. “Like I said. Relax.”

He does. A little bit. “Is...that it?”

Johnny lets out a huff of laughter before he can stop himself. “ _ Is that it _ ,” he repeats. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“ _ No _ , I just...” he's not relaxing anymore. “It was--um--it  _ was,  _ y'know...uh, nice, it's just...I don't know...” He tries to find somewhere to place his gaze. “...I don't know.”

“Mhm.” Johnny traces lines along Richard's stomach. “Is there something else you want?”

He shivers--and runs his tongue along his bottom lip. Perhaps he doesn’t even realize. Johnny raises an eyebrow, baiting.

Richard takes it, and sits up with unexpected confidence, coming nose-to-nose with him--before leaning inches forward and kissing him. He hasn't suddenly become an expert or anything, but Johnny welcomes the attempt, tilting his head to reciprocate. It's slower now, more certain, and a cloud of contentedness settles over him as Richard pulls him close.

This one was a good choice.

But the moment passes. It's not much more than a minute later when Richard pulls back.

He clears his throat.

“I should...probably be getting home,” he says, with some uncertainty. As if Johnny might protest against the idea.

He does, a little. He sighs, melodramatically disappointed, but then breaks into a smile and steals one more kiss.

“Okay,” he says. “The bathroom's over there, if you want to freshen up a bit.” He gestures towards a door. Richard nods, and extracts himself from the couch to take that advice.

Johnny gets up and goes to his kitchen, grabbing a beer just to have something to do.

When Richard comes back out, he's returned to his methodic and high-strung appearance, every hair on his head back in place. He grabs his glasses from the side table and completes the look.

He doesn't, however, scurry out the door as quickly as he thought he would. He stands there, apparently fascinated by Johnny's lampshade, and then looks up at him.

“Why did you--” he starts to ask, and then runs out of words. “I mean...what is...this? Do you--do you do this a lot?”

Despite his stammering, he doesn't seem wary of the answer. He just wants to know.

Johnny shrugs.

“I like to kiss cute boys,” he says, easily. “And you didn't seem like you'd punch me in the face for trying.”

“Hm,” says Richard, brow furrowing. He doesn't seem to know how to take that. “This seems...lonely.”

Johnny smirks. “I wouldn't worry too much.” He takes a drink, Richard hanging off his silence. “You know where to find me if you need to do any more research.”

Richard flushes, glancing away. “Um,” he says. “Okay. Uh--thanks.”

“Any time, sweetheart.”

He winks.


End file.
